Every Little Thing
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: Spike can't fall in love with Julia, she belongs to Vicious...right? Set three years before Bebop.


DISCLAIMER: Cowboy Bebop and all related characters belong to Sunrise. Original story property of me. Don't sue. It's not worth it.  
  
  
  
AN: For the past week, I've been searching through my music collection to give me inspiration to write. Only when I gave up searching did this story come to me…This is my take on what's happening behind the end credits of Cowboy Bebop.  
  
  
  
Every Little Thing  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
Lyrics by Sting and The Police  
  
  
  
Though I've tried before to tell her  
  
Of the feelings I have for her in my heart  
  
Every time that I come near her  
  
I just lose my nerve  
  
As I've done from the start  
  
  
  
Spike filled the doorway of Julia's apartment with his lanky frame. Gone-- for the afternoon, anyway--was the somber young gangster, the long dark wool coat trimmed with gold braid safely stowed away. In his place was a young man who, at twenty-four, still looked as if he had yet to grow into his long limbs. For the moment, he was just another street tough clad in worn jeans, a white teeshirt, and a brown leather bomber with a sherpa collar. He grinned at Julia, waggling his eyebrows at her.  
  
"Hey, ready to go?"  
  
She smiled at him, her crystal blue eyes alight. "I am, but I've got some bad news."  
  
Spike ducked under her arm and strolled into the room, and Julia shut the door behind him. "What sort of bad news?"  
  
Crossing her arms, Julia moved in front of him, a corner of her mouth crinkled in a frown. "Vicious can't come with us."  
  
"What?" Spike flopped on the couch, his jacket creaking. "Whaddya mean he can't come?"  
  
"Yenrai-san had something for him to do," she answered, sitting opposite him in a worn chair. She hugged the decorative pillow in her lap, fingering the shabby fringe around the edge. "In fact, Yenrai-san's had extra work for him every night this week."  
  
His garnet eyes narrowed slightly, Spike pretended to be interested in the magazines on the coffee table. "Vicious is a workaholic. You and I both know he isn't happy unless he's doing something. He can't stand just hanging out and having fun."  
  
Julia tossed her golden hair in annoyance. "I don't know why I bothered to ask him. I should know better than to try."  
  
Her green-haired companion jumped up from the sofa, moving restlessly to the window that looked out onto the street. Sitting in the windowsill was a delicate blue glass objet d'art. Curious, Spike moved to touch it, but he changed his mind and let his fingers hover just above the sculpture. He turned his head, fixing Julia with a pointed glance. "Haven't seen this before. Is this new?"  
  
"Spike, be careful! Don't touch it." Julia pushed his hands away as she would a child's, and he stuffed the offending appendages into his pockets. She picked up the sculpture and moved it to the kitchen table, the gilded glass shapes looking almost gaudy against the shabby wooden square. "Yes, it's new," she said at length.  
  
"It's from him, isn't it." Cold and flat, the words weren't a question.  
  
Julia whirled to face Spike, her hair fanning in a sparkling semi-circle around her. "Yes. Does that bother you?"  
  
Spike opened his mouth to say something, but waved the thought away and shook his head. "Hey, weren't we going somewhere?"  
  
The smile was back on Julia's pretty face. "We were. Let Vicious be a workaholic; he's going to miss all the fun."  
  
Gallantly, Spike offered his arm to Julia, who gave him a playful shove. "Let's go," he grinned. "I need a smoke, anyway."  
  
  
  
Every little thing she does is magic  
  
Everything she do just turns me on  
  
Even though my life before was tragic  
  
Now I know my love for her goes on  
  
  
  
The clouds building in the distance worried Spike, and as they stood on the platform for the train, his eyes kept straying to the grey-black clouds. Julia noticed him staring at the horizon and wound her arms around his right one, her hand slipping into his.  
  
"What are you looking at?"  
  
Spike didn't take his eyes off the roiling clouds, but he squeezed her hand. It was thin and soft, and suddenly he felt clumsy, like he would crush the fragile bones without meaning to. "Nothing. I hope it doesn't rain," he said absently, finally smiling down at her. "You didn't bring an umbrella, did you?"  
  
To his surprise, she patted her shoulder bag. "I brought my fold-up umbrella." Julia tapped a finger to his forehead, making him cross-eyed. "If you'd been smart you would have checked the weather report, like I did."  
  
The train slid smoothly up to the platform where they stood, a rush of air resettling Julia's hair around her shoulders. "Hey, when you're with me, the sun is always gonna shine," he grinned, pulling her with him onto the train.  
  
  
  
Do I have to tell the story  
  
Of a thousand rainy days since we first met  
  
It's a big enough umbrella  
  
But it's always me that ends up getting wet  
  
  
  
Julia and Spike ran down the street, both trying to stay under the umbrella's dome. When they neared the café, Spike ran ahead and held the door open, watching Julia trot towards him, her umbrella and fine-gauge sweater looking like twin splashes of red against the iron-gray canvas of the sky. Her boots made satisfying clicks against the rainy sidewalk as she drew closer, her long, jean-clad legs moving gracefully. Her black leather duster billowed behind her with a sudden gust of wind, and she hurried to where Spike blocked the wind with his body.  
  
"Thanks! I can't believe it's so cold." She folded her umbrella as she stepped inside, while Spike brought up the rear and shut the door against the wind.  
  
The damp weather had given Julia's hair a slight wave at the ends, and Spike caught the faint scent of strawberries coming from the golden tresses. Without thinking, he leaned forward until his chin grazed the top of her head. "Your hair smells really good," he said dreamily.  
  
"There's a table," Julia said, moving forward and pointing. She busied herself pulling off her gloves as Spike stuffed his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, the tall youth shambling over to the table by the window. When Julia looked up, Spike's gaze was fastened on the view of the rain outside. "I did hear you, you know," she murmured.  
  
"Then why did you act like you didn't?" He turned his eyes to her, the garnet irises dulling to a rusty hue. "What, is the subject of your hair off limits now or something?"  
  
"Or something," Julia said softly, placing her hands atop his. "Spike, don't do this to yourself."  
  
"What am I doing?" he demanded. "I was just complementing a friend of mine on the smell of her hair." He shook his head, reaching for a cigarette. "I thought that was why women use that stuff."  
  
The waiter--a graying, stoop-shouldered man who knew most of the clientele by name--hurried over with cups of coffee. "So sorry, we're very busy today," the older man murmured, the heavy white cups clinking against their saucers as he set them down. "Sugar? Cream?"  
  
"Just black for me," Spike drawled around the cigarette hanging from his lips, patting the pockets of the jacket for his lighter.  
  
"Oh, so sorry, Spiegel-san. Smoking is not allowed in here." The waiter pointed to a sign that read "no smoking" in English, Japanese, French, and Russian.  
  
"Heh." Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth. "When did this happen?"  
  
The waiter drew an order pad from the front pocket of his apron. "Just last week. New health regulation." He poised a pencil over the pad. "What can I get for you?"  
  
Spike realized he hadn't even looked at the menu. He grabbed it and thumbed through the plastic pages, perusing the photographs and descriptions of the dishes. "Um, I'm not that hungry, really. I'll take a burger with everything, fries, and a cherry soda with chocolate ice cream." He glanced at Julia over the menu, and saw her blue eyes dancing with laughter. "What's so funny?"  
  
  
  
Every little thing she does is magic  
  
Everything she do just turns me on  
  
Even though my life before was tragic  
  
Now I know my love for her goes on  
  
  
  
"Why do you do that?" Julia asked, making a face as Spike cupped his hand around his lighter.  
  
He waited until he had taken a drag to answer, the smoke rushing from him on the wind. "What, this?" he asked, holding up the cigarette. He shrugged. "Because it feels good."  
  
"What do you mean? You're inhaling smoke."  
  
Spike shook his head, grinning. "It's impossible to explain to someone who's never smoked."  
  
"All right, then." Before he could stop her, Julia went up to a man in a trenchcoat that was waiting for a bus on the corner. "Excuse me," she said politely, "do you have a cigarette?"  
  
The man smiled, charmed by the pretty blonde girl. "Of course." He reached into his pocket and produced a shiny silver case, and Julia selected one of the thin white rolls. She held it between her first and middle fingers as the man lit it, cupping his hand around the flame as it caught. "There you are, my dear," he said, snapping the lighter shut with a grin. The bus arrived with a squeal of brakes, and the man waved as he stepped aboard.  
  
Flabbergasted, Spike watched as Julia put the cigarette between her lips and inhaled. She glanced at Spike, then blew the smoke into the chilly air, pursing her finely drawn mouth as if she were blowing the fuzz off of a dandelion. "Hmm," she murmured, tossing away the cigarette as Spike continued to stare. "I think I see what you mean." The clove-scented words drifted across his cheek as she tugged on the sherpa collar, drawing him closer. Spike felt his world tilt; he was falling forward into the pools of her crystal blue eyes, every nerve tingling as he pressed his mouth to hers.  
  
  
  
I resolve to call her up a thousand times a day  
  
And ask her if she'll marry me in some old fashioned way  
  
But my silent fears have gripped me  
  
Long before I reach the phone  
  
Long before my tongue has tripped me  
  
Must I always be alone?  
  
  
  
Spike lay back on his bed, thinking about the last few days, letting the memories drift with the smoke he exhaled. Vicious had been kept after work late every night, and Julia had called Spike, asking for him to keep her company. They had gone to the movies; they shot pool; they had gone ice skating, always laughing and talking together, like two peas in a pod. The worst of it was that somewhere in between the cups of coffee and the baskets of fries and the laughter, they had fallen in love. Spike had teased her that it was her newfound vice that had done it, but they both knew it was more than that. They both felt it; it was destiny, over anything she and Vicious would ever share.  
  
"Destiny." Spike tried out the word. Did he really believe that someone like him, a child of the streets, a young gangster boy from Tharsis City, had a share in something like destiny? He remembered how Annie grilled him after she caught him whistling, saying that was how Spike's father looked after he met Spike's mother. Even Mao had given him a knowing glance after Spike gallantly lit Julia's cigarette at a Syndicate function. The only one who hadn't noticed was Vicious. Was that why Mao had kept him so busy? Had everyone been trying to get Julia and Spike together?  
  
The thought gave him a jolt of courage that demanded he get up from the bed. Stubbing out his cigarette, Spike went to the phone and picked it up, listening for a moment to the steady hum of the dial tone. He could call her and say he was coming over. There was a store on the way where they had stood and looked into the windows, Julia's eyes sparkling brighter than the diamond rings on display. He could duck into that store, then go on up to her place and knock on her door. When she opened it, he'd pull the box out of his coat pocket, get down on one knee and say--  
  
What?  
  
What could he possibly offer her? What could he possibly say that would impress her? He could just see himself kneeling at her feet, either babbling like an idiot or completely tongue tied. Worse, he could see her laughing, showing Vicious how much of an idiot his best friend was for thinking he could--  
  
Spike hung up the phone and walked away.  
  
  
  
Every little thing she does is magic  
  
Everything she do just turns me on  
  
Even though my life before was tragic  
  
Now I know my love for her goes on  
  
Spike really didn't know how he got there; he'd had gone for a walk to clear his head and had ended up at Julia's apartment. He knocked, not knowing why he did that, either.  
  
"Coming," she called through the door. Music that had been drifting through the door suddenly lowered in volume, and the doorknob rattled. Then she was opening the door, drying her hands on the towel thrown over her shoulder. "Spike," she breathed, her face wreathed in smiles.  
  
"I was in the neighborhood," he began, but decided that sounded lame.  
  
"Come in, I was just making some dinner." She pulled him into the apartment and shut the door behind him, appreciating the way his jeans fit his lean body. She moved to stand in front of him and put her arms around his neck, kissing him to taste the mingled flavors of coffee and cigarette smoke on his lips. After a moment, she pulled away, smiling, but then she saw his face.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Julia, I--" The walls closed in; he was smothering. He needed a cigarette. "Come have a smoke with me." He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door, but she stopped him.  
  
"Wait," she called, "Let me turn off the stove." Spike shifted impatiently from one foot to the other while she fiddled with the knobs on the stove. "I can't be out for very long; my dinner will spoil."  
  
They descended the stairs in silence, finally reaching the outside door. Spike took Julia's hand and led her to the café, not speaking until they were both ensconced in the private booth in the back.  
  
"Julia, do you love me?" he asked, his eyes an intense red-brown in the dim light.  
  
She drew her hand out of his and sat back against the wall of the booth. Spike noticed that she was still wearing the white apron she'd put on to keep cooking stains off her skirt. "Spike, what kind of a question is that? Of course I do."  
  
"Then let's get married."  
  
Julia's eyes widened; her mouth opened a fraction. "Spike," she whispered, speechless beyond that single syllable.  
  
He recaptured her hands. "Why not? Don't you feel it between us?"  
  
This couldn't be happening; she pretended not to know what he was talking about. "'It'?"  
  
Spike's face went stone still. "Destiny, Julia. Everyone knows we're meant to be together. Yenrai-san, Annie, you, me--everyone knows it."  
  
Her blue eyes swam with tears. "What about Vicious? Does he know?"  
  
It was as if she'd punched him in the gut. Gathering every last shred of composure he could muster, Spike looked deeply into the face of the woman he knew would hold his soul in the palm of her hand forever. "Julia, I love you. Will you be my wife?"  
  
Tears streaming down her face, Julia pulled her hands from under his and fled the café.  
  
She only got as far as the corner--the corner where she'd asked the man for the cigarette--when Spike caught up with her. "I'm sorry," he said, talking over the noise of the traffic. "It was too soon; I shouldn't have asked you like this." He hugged her to him, feeling her tears wet his white teeshirt. "I do love you, Julia, and I meant what I said." He cupped her chin, tilting her face up to his. "We're meant to be together."  
  
She nodded, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. The light changed, and they crossed the street together, her hand in his.  
  
Spike held open the door for Julia as they entered the first floor hallway. As he turned back to make sure the door was shut behind them, Julia dropped his hand.  
  
"I knocked, but there was no one home," said an oily voice from above. "I was beginning to worry."  
  
Spike's head fell back as he looked up to the landing. Standing by the railing in front of Julia's door was a thin man with a tangle of white hair hanging over his eyes.  
  
"Hey," Spike said, watching as Julia climbed the stairs to the waiting arms of his best friend.  
  
  
  
The End 


End file.
